by Jessie Cooke
After she finished cleaning, she’d soaked for over an hour in the tub. She felt like the blood was all over her and she scrubbed her skin almost raw, trying to get it off. She went to bed wide awake and lay there thinking about Wolf all night long. She couldn’t help but wonder if Garner was right. Was there something wrong with her for being happy that Mouse was dead? Should she have done the right thing and told them she knew Wolf didn’t have to shoot him? Just before the sun came up, exhausted in body and soul, she got up, got her phone, and called her dad. She knew he’d be up, already on his second cup of coffee, sitting on the porch of the little house they lived in now, watching the sunrise.
“Hello, beautiful.”
“Hi, Dad. What are you doing?”
“Watching the sunrise,” he said. Blair smiled. “I was just thinking about you. How was the trip to Las Vegas?”
“It was fun, but there’s something I need to ask you, and I need you to be honest with me.”
“Always.”
“If you found out that the man who shot Rick Crane did so knowing Crane was unconscious and not an immediate threat...would you...?” She didn’t get to finish before he said:
“Still want to give him a medal? Yes.”
Chuckling she said, “Just because Crane hurt me?”
“Well, yeah, of course because he hurt you. But from what you told us and what I’ve found out about this guy Crane since...”
“Wait, how are you finding things out about him since?”
“Well, maybe not him in particular, but I’ve done some research into this brotherhood he was involved with up in the mountains. They’re a twisted bunch.”
“Okay, go on.”
“He was vermin, baby girl. Some people just are. You know I’m not an advocate of violence and I never have been...but I also believe that some people are beyond fixing. If that guy had lived, he would have spent maybe three to five years in prison, and as soon as he got out, he would have hurt someone again...maybe killed them next time. That’s my opinion anyway.”
“So, you think it’s okay that I don’t feel bad that he’s dead?”
It was his turn to chuckle. “Baby girl, I think I would worry about you if you did.”
She felt a little better after talking to him, but the idea that Garner was determined to arrest Wolf for murder ate away at her. She tried spending the day working in the yard, planting flowers and succulents...but even the sunshine and fresh air wasn’t enough to calm her thoughts. She suffered through another sleepless night and finally on Tuesday morning she picked up her phone. At the very least, she had to warn Wolf that Garner was trying to build a case against him. It went against everything she believed in professionally, but this was personal.
She found the number Wolf had given her in Vegas and called it. It rang, and rang, and rang, finally going to a voicemail box that was full. She put the phone down, wondering if maybe she should go over to the clubhouse and see if she could find him, or if she should just send him a text. But what if the police did arrest him? If Garner was as gung-ho as she thought he was, he could turn around and use that text against them both. He could look at it like they were trying to cover something up.
Blair had never been inside of an MC clubhouse before, but after meeting the guys in Vegas she figured it would be about the same as walking into a bar. She was more worried about not telling him than she was about any consequences of doing it. She picked up her phone again and tucked it into her pocket and then she grabbed her keys by the back door. She hoped he didn’t mind her just showing up, but she had a bad feeling about this, and she couldn’t wait any longer to talk to him.
Blair was full of self-confidence, right up until she pulled up to the cyclone fence that surrounded the Westside Skulls clubhouse. The young guy at the gate was heavily tattooed, with a shaved head and long beard. He looked her over like he had just been craving something sweet and found a piece of chocolate in his pocket. “Help you?”
“Yes, my name is Blair Newman. I’m here to see Wolf.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “He expecting you?”
“Not exactly, but it’s important and I think he’ll see me.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” the kid said. She was left wondering what he meant by that when he said, “Gimme a sec,” and stepped away. He took out his cellphone and she could tell that he was talking about her by the way he kept looking back at her over his shoulder. She tried to hear what he was saying but couldn’t quite make it out. When he ended the call, he came back over and said, “Drive on up past the shop and park in front of the clubhouse.”
“Thank you.”
“Mm-hmm.” He watched her drive away and when she reached the shop, she could still see him watching her in the rearview mirror. Wolf must have pretty strict rules about visitors for her to arouse that kind of suspicion, she thought. She came to the clubhouse, or at least that’s what she assumed it was. The building was big and square and could have been any kind of hall. As a matter of fact, it strongly resembled the Elks Lodge across town if not for the fact that it was surrounded by Harleys. She parked in an empty spot in the dirt lot and went up to the door. Before she got there, it was pulled open and Bruf was framed in the doorway.
“Hey.”
“Hi, Bruf. I’m here to see Wolf.”
“Not here.”
“Oh...why didn’t the guy at the gate just tell me that?”
“Because I told him to send you up. We need to talk.”
Blair was really hoping that he didn’t want to talk to her about Lana. She didn’t like getting involved in other people’s relationships. She had no experience in that arena anyways, and Lana had seemed pretty adamant when she said that she probably wouldn’t see him again. “Okay, what do you want to talk about?”
“Come on in, well talk in the office,” he said, opening the door and holding it open for her. She stepped inside and paused to look around. It was like a big game room. There were couches and recliners, a large-screen television, a wet bar and two pool tables, a jukebox and a small dance floor in the center of it all. Two men in denim jackets sat at the bar eating and a woman stood behind it, wiping glasses. She was older, but pretty and with a killer body that Blair wouldn’t mind having at twenty or so years her junior. The three of them watched curiously as Bruf led her by and then down a hallway and into an office. He waved a hand at a chair on one side of the desk and he took the one on the other side. The wall behind where he sat was covered in photographs. The Skulls were posing at different bike runs, toy runs, and what looked like bike and car shows with almost naked women. She looked at Bruf. The look on his face was serious and suddenly she was a little worried about what he wanted to tell her. Her mind was going in all kinds of crazy directions...like perhaps Wolf had decided he didn’t want to see her again and assigned Bruf to tell her.
“What’s up?” she finally said.
“What did you tell the police?”
“Excuse me?”
“The cops. What did you tell them about Wolf and the day he shot Mouse?” That bad feeling was back, but she was also taken aback by the way Bruf was looking at her and talking to her.
“Why are you asking me that? Why can’t I talk to Wolf?”
“You can, on visiting day at the county jail.”
“Oh my God! Why is he in jail?”
Bruf cocked an eyebrow but said, “He was arrested for Mouse’s murder.”
Blair felt sick to her stomach. Was he arrested because of my conversation with Garner? “Oh my God,” she said again. “I knew he was trying to trick me.”
“Who was trying to trick you?”
Fighting down the bile that was rising up in the back of her throat she said, “Garner. He came by my house as soon as I got home from Vegas. He was pressing me to say that Mouse was unconscious when Wolf shot him.”
“And did you?”
“No! I mean, shit. What I told him was that Mouse was trying to rape and kill me and he nearly killed Gra
nite, so what Wolf did was to protect everyone. It was self-defense.”
Bruf looked like he was fighting to be patient with her. “We all know that was why he killed him, but the question still is, what did you tell them about whether or not Mouse was conscious when Wolf shot him?”
“I told him I didn’t know.” Another raised eyebrow. “I told him I didn’t care. I just told him the truth. I had hit him with the pan, then I fell and I was trying to get back to my feet when I heard the gun go off. So I just don’t know. But Bruf, I never meant to do anything to hurt Wolf, you have to believe me.”
“I’m not the one you’re going to have to convince of that,” he said.
Wolf sat on the edge of the cement cot on top of the paper-thin mattress that covered it. They gave him one scratchy wool blanket when he got there, right after taking away all of his possessions and searching him in places where no man had ever gone before, and never would again if he could help it. Along with the worthless blanket, he was given an over-bleached and possibly starched pair of boxers and tube socks and the ugly orange jumpsuit that he was now wearing, along with a pair of rubber flip-flops that he could proudly wear in or out of the shower. They were orange too. Orange wasn’t his color, or anyone’s in his opinion. He hated fucking Halloween and the orange and black uniforms worn by the San Francisco Giants. He’d become an LA Dodgers fan years before just for that reason. He also made sure when the club got new emblems for their kuttes that there was no orange in them anywhere. He fucking hated it, and as far as he was concerned the color of the jumpsuit was just one more indignity he was forced to endure.
He thought about Mouse and wondered if he was laughing in hell. Wolf never had much of an opinion of him, but he never found him to be a very smart man. He would have never suspected that the son of a bitch would be clever enough to plan this whole thing with one goal in mind...Wolf in prison. He looked around the jail cell and thought that the POS might have actually pulled it off. It was going to be hard, walking into a courtroom as the leader of a 1% MC and admitting that he killed a man, shot him in the face...and expecting twelve jurors to believe he did it in self-defense. That was going to be the defense Harlow put together for him...but Wolf was already sure no one was going to buy it...especially if they put sweet little Blair on the stand and she said she had no idea if Mouse was still a threat or not. That thought made his chest hurt worse than the thought of going to prison. He knew that she didn’t owe him anything and she didn’t even really know him all that well, so he wasn’t even really angry with her. It was himself that he was pissed off at.
He’d left Las Vegas with the idea in his head that he and Blair were going somewhere. He’d never been like his brothers, satisfied with all the pussy you could eat. He wanted to be in love and he wanted to be loved back. He’d thought Amara was his soulmate and he had been so wrong; the fact that he was trying to jump back into something so quickly made him want to kick his own ass...especially now that he was forced to face the facts...that Blair thought he had it in him to shoot an unconscious, non-threatening man in the face. Yes, he’d shot him...but if he hadn’t, Mouse would have been back out on the streets in no time. He would have probably even made bail. Wolf had taken one look at what he did to Granite, and when Mouse smiled at him, it was game over. At that second, he didn’t care if he had to go to jail for it...at least he knew Mouse couldn’t hurt anyone else. In his mind, it had been like putting down a rabid dog.
Wolf hadn’t even seen Blair’s face yet when he pulled that trigger. When that beautiful woman turned and looked at him, covered in bruises, cuts, and a fresh spray of blood...he had wanted to shoot Mouse all over again. She had thanked him in Vegas. She told him that he saved her life. He wondered if she’d really meant it, if she really thought he saved her life. But then he had to wonder why she wouldn’t just have assured Garner that Mouse was awake, and a continued threat to the safety of everyone in that room. His heart hurt to think that she was thinking poorly of him for doing what he thought he had to do...but it hurt even more simply because he missed her so badly. She had been on his mind every waking moment since Vegas and she was the star of his dreams at night. Most of the time when he thought about her, he wished that he had just fucked her, the way Bruf fucked her friend, and then called it a day. He wished that he hadn’t talked to her, shared his feelings with her. He wished that he was as tough and hard on the inside as he was on the outside, because he wasn’t sure how many more times his heart could stand to be broken.
“Hey!” Wolf’s body jerked in surprise at the sound of the guard’s voice. He usually heard them coming, but he’d been lost in his own thoughts. “You got a visitor, Lee.”
Wolf frowned. “Is it my attorney?” It wasn’t visiting day; that was on Sunday and it was only Wednesday. Harlow had been there the last two days in a row, trying to get him ready for his bail hearing, which was set for Friday. Harlow was sure they were going to deny it and as much as Wolf wanted to fire him for being so fucking negative, he was sure that his attorney was right. If Harlow was back today to talk about the same bullshit, he was leaving and coming back to his cell.
“Don’t know,” the guard said. “You refusing?”
“No.” If nothing else, he’d get some exercise and some time away from the six-by-six space he shared with a twenty-year-old wannabe thug. The thug was out for a doctor’s visit that morning, but he would be back soon enough. “I want to see my visitor,” he said.
“Then get on your feet and get the fuck over here.” Wolf constantly had to calm the beast inside of him, and he had only been locked up for three days. If he ended up going to prison for life...either his life or someone else’s might be shortened considerably. He hated being talked down to...it was one of the big perks of being who he was. He knew a lot of people treated him with respect out of fear, but he was proud to say that most of them were just returning the respect that he tried to bestow on those around him.
Wolf got up and went over to the door, where the deputy had dropped open the food port. He already knew the drill. He turned around backwards and put his hands up to the port where the deputy slipped the handcuffs on and, as usual, snapped them down too tight.
Once he was cuffed like the vicious, dangerous animal they thought he was, the deputy unlocked the cell door and slid it open. Wolf backed out and stood stock still with his feet shoulder-width apart while the shackles were wrapped and secured around his ankles. Once that was done, the deputy took hold of his upper arm and led him shuffling in impossibly short steps down the long hallway past the other row of cells.
Wolf wondered if you ever got used to being bound like that. At least in prison, he’d heard anyways, you’re given a little more freedom. The smells were terrible too. It was like being in a boy’s locker-room only that sweaty old semen smell was mixed with that of greasy food either being cooked or going bad, and the overwhelming odor of the sickeningly sweet wine that was being made all around them. The packets of grape jelly and stolen handfuls of sugar were stuffed inside of the crisp white socks they were given at intake and then hung underneath the rim of their toilets to ferment. The worst part, though, he’d have to say, was the noise. During the day it reached decibels that even the music at the club or a pack of Harleys couldn’t rival. But nighttime was the worst. Sounds of sobs, maniacal laughter, or out-of-control puking woke him up several times and left him fighting to go back to sleep.
The deputy stopped in front of one of the heavy doors of the visiting room. Wolf hoped that Harlow was here to tell him that he’d found some way to get him the hell out of this place rather than just the opposite. He stood stiff like a soldier while the deputy unlocked the door and pushed it open. He took Wolf by the arm again and guided him inside. Before he cleared the door, Wolf came to a dead stop, unable to believe what he was seeing. “Blair?”
“Mr. Lee. I’d appreciate it if you would keep it professional, please.”
He frowned, confused. Professional? Blair looked over a
nd smiled at the deputy. Wolf considered just going back to his cell, but only for about half a second. He could smell her light perfume and God, did she look pretty. Pissed off or not pissed off, he had to have at least a few minutes with her.
“Miss Newman,” he said.
“Thank you.” She smiled and her eyes locked into his. It almost hurt when she looked away again. She told the deputy, “Thank you, Deputy...” Reading his name tag she said, “Johnston. Deputy Johnston, I’ll need some privacy with my patient, please.”
The deputy looked at Wolf and then back at Blair. It was obvious he wasn’t buying the “patient” thing, but Wolf could see in the middle-aged man’s eyes that he was probably burnt out and he really didn’t care. Someone else had let her in, so that wasn’t on him. Even after only a few days, Wolf had seen a lot of that already. The deputy pushed Wolf down into the chair, roughly. Blair winced and, shamefully, that made him feel good...at least she cared how he was being treated. He wondered how bad he looked as she studied his face. He could feel the blood that was shot through his eyes and he knew his long hair and beard had to be a mess thanks to the flimsy comb they provided him. He kept his eyes on her face until Johnston left and when the door was closed he said, “Patient?”
“I tried calling you yesterday and when you didn’t answer, I drove over to the clubhouse. Bruf told me you were here. I called to find out about visiting, and seeing you in a professional capacity was the only way I could get in to see you before Sunday.”
“And you’re here because you just wanted to make sure they’d locked the bad guy up? You wanted to see it for yourself?”
“Do you honestly think this is what I wanted? You saved my life that day. I will be eternally grateful to you for that.”